


Sentiments

by i_am_a_mole_and_i_live_in_a_hole



Series: Ficlets [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, M/M, Near Death Experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 09:25:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2223882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_a_mole_and_i_live_in_a_hole/pseuds/i_am_a_mole_and_i_live_in_a_hole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An afternoon, and a special gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sentiments

          Loki’s apartment was an Asgardian oasis lit with softly floating golden witchlights, whose square footage Tony strongly suspected to have been augmented with magic. The kitchen, where Tony found himself following Loki's hurried "Yes you can visit Im' busy right now but I'll be done soon enuogh" response to his text and subsequent teleport, no longer showed any signs of containing a stove (he recalled that Thor had been quite amused by how “well-preserved” the one in Tony’s kitchen had been). The place where Tony thought one would have been now simply held another counter and cabinet.

          At the moment, Loki was standing with one foot on this cabinet and the other braced against the island in the center of the kitchen, holding a huge glass bowl underneath a menacingly quivering blob of green-grey… liquid? which was floating in the air. He was crooning to it gently in a language that Tony didn’t understand.

          “Good afternoon, Stark.” Loki’s eyes remained fixated on the blob, his voice a sweet sing-song as a string of glistening matter shot out from the main part of it and whipped around angrily in the air for a few moments before sagging back into the mass. “I _hate_ working with glossing. Please duck behind that patch of wood you mortals call the _bar_ or you might find all of your skin burnt off in a moment.”

          “What the fuck _is_ that?” Tony asked, entranced.

          “Stark! I do not jest, I… _Gjörðu svo vel, róa sig niður. Þakka þér fyrir_ … I will _not_ heal you if you don’t even _try_ to prevent yourself from getting set on fire.”

          “I’m going, I’m going!”

          “Good. Thank you.”

          “But seriously, what _is_ that… ‘glossing’?” Tony asked, trying not to hit his head on the edge of the long table beside him.

          “It’s short for,” and here Loki said something in the language that Tony did not understand. He was almost _purring_ , presumably for the benefit of whatever substance he was working with (and one could see why he hated it if the ‘glossy’ stuff always had to be sweet-talked that way), and Tony had to stifle an unmanly giggle. “I don’t believe there’s an equivalent. Stark, there should be a small metal cylinder somewhere on the floor in front of you. Please toss it over the bar for me.”

          He did, and couldn’t resist a little bit of snark. “What, lost your teleporting-things touch already?”

          “I got you here, didn’t I? I’ve charmed that piece not to be moved by magnets or teleports.” Then suddenly, there was a loud clap that made Tony jump and crack the back of his head against the counter.

          “OW! Fuck!”

          “You poor thing. You can come out now,” Loki said, his voice back to normal and sounding maliciously gleeful. When Tony stood, he found Loki sitting on the counter, ankles crossed primly, the blob rippling as if in a daze within the confines of a huge glass ball encased in metal ribbing. A moment later he spun the ball between his fingers, and it vanished. “I’ve sent that to your work shop. Whenever you finish making your next suit, paint what’s in that glass onto the parts that are exposed to the air while playing it lullabies. Make sure to use all of it. Don’t stop playing lullabies until after it’s completely dry, but after that it will be quite safe. Oh, and ensure that your lullabies are varied—this material gets bored quite easily. As you might have noticed.”

          “That sounds dangerous. What does it do?” Tony queried, hoping that he wouldn’t come home to find that Dummy had opened up the ball and released chemical hellfire into his tower. “I don’t particularly want to be burnt to a crisp.”

          Loki snorted. Then he raised a hand and conjured a few fire-snakes on the table, watching as they writhed and twisted around each other. “Actually, that substance is usually used on shields and armor that are intended to withstand the touch and breath of the beasts that come from Muspellsheimr. And if I _ever_ find you allowing something to set you afire again now that I’ve given this to you, Stark, I will reduce you to charcoal myself.”

          “…Oh,” said Tony, feeling something that was _absolutely not mushy as hell_ swelling in his chest. He took a step forward. Reached out and grinned and rested his hand on Loki’s knee. “I… thank you.”

          Loki just squeezed Tony’s wrist, and smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> The phrases Loki uses are taken straight from an Icelandic phrase book; they're supposed to mean "Please, calm down. Thank you."
> 
> I have a tumblr existence! happygutters for nsfw; mari-the-mole for everything else.


End file.
